


Revival

by wrongfun (scumtrout)



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:22:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26899630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scumtrout/pseuds/wrongfun
Summary: Morose little ghost/living person fic set some time after S1.
Relationships: Amon/Lieutenant (Avatar)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	Revival

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written back in 2017(!) for a tumblr prompt.

Due to bureaucratic whim, Inmate 84294 is briefly moved to a cell with proper bars, allowing him to see (or even reach) out onto the adjacent corridor where the prison guards walk by.

One day, Inmate 84294 gets it into his head to throw his breakfast at a passing guard.

The breakfast is just congee, more water than rice.

The guard should consider himself lucky that Inmate 84294 does not throw anything worse.

The guard, who is familiar with Inmate 84294’s history, actually pauses to marvel at the fact that 84294 is still capable of such behavior.

The guard then looks over to where 84294 stares balefully at him from behind the bars.

And the guard smiles.

“Hey,” the guard says, “Has anyone told you they’ve confirmed Amon is dead?”

84294 gives him a look of incomprehension.

“Yeah, apparently the United Forces found his remains a while ago,” the guard adds. “They only released the information to the public this week.”

84294 doesn’t react. 84294 doesn’t react much to anything these days. It’s been a while since anyone heard 84294 speak, and no one can remember what he last said.

“Guess you’d be the last guy to find out, huh,” the guard says, then shrugs, and continues on his way.

As the guard walks away, 84294 turns his back on the corridor, and sits on the cell floor.

–

84294 doesn’t think, because 84294 doesn’t have anything worth thinking about. 84294 cracks every single one of his knuckles. _Krk Krk krk krk._

84294 has heard a lot of lies during his lifetime. 84294 has no reason to pay the guard any mind.

84294 listens to the familiar wet snap of his finger joints, and loses himself in the sound.

–

The guard returns to 84294’s cell at some point.

84294 doesn’t look up. 84294 half expects the guard to give him the usual spiel about how he needs to knock it off with the whole knuckle-cracking thing, because 84294’s knuckle-cracking makes people crazy.

But actually, the guard says, “Hey. So.”

84294 still doesn’t look up.

“If you wanna know, the United Forces admitted that they found Amon’s remains on beach a few miles west of here,” the guard says. “Apparently they found him months back, but they were keeping quiet about it until they were sure it was him.”

84294 hears the rustle of paper.

“Heck, it’s front page news,” the guard says.

84294 continues to methodically crack his knuckles.

“You want to read it?” the guard says. “No?”

 _Krk Krk krk krk_ , go 84294’s fingers.

The guard says, “So far everyone thinks that he was trying to flee with that guy who was meant to be his brother, whathisname, but the brother had other ideas. They found what was left of _him_ , too. Maybe if you put their remains together, you’d have just enough body parts to make up an entire guy.”

 _Krk Krk krk krk click_. 84294 dislocates his index finger by accident, although pain no longer hurts like it used to.

“A waterbender dying at sea,” the guard says. “There’s irony for you.”

84294 neatly relocates his finger again.

84294 knows the guard is lying.

84294 does not like liars.

84294 stands up and turns to face the guard. He doesn’t look directly at him, but he can see that the guard has a newspaper in his left hand.

84294 swallows, takes a deep breath, and finds what’s left of his voice.

84294 says, “Show me the newspaper.”

Arrogant and unthinking, the guard walks closer so he can pass the newspaper over.

84294’s stooped shoulders make him look shorter than he is, and perhaps that’s why the guard underestimates 84294’s reach.

The guard holds the paper out.

84294 grabs the guard’s arm and yanks him closer.

84294 reaches for the guard’s eyes, and-

–

84294 wakes up back in a cell without bars.

84294 isn’t surprised to find that he’s been restrained. He’s used to this by now. He doesn’t remember the restraints being put on, but that’s how it usually goes. All the guards are earthbenders, so whenever you do anything to them they don’t like, they just bounce you off the floor and then you wake up somewhere else. (84294 knows that they’re probably not meant to do this to inmates, but 84294 has made it clear that no one will learn anything of use from him. And if there’s nothing worth saving in 84294’s head, then no one has any qualms about cracking it open.)

The cell is nothing more than four walls and a heavy door, enclosing a space too small to contain so much silence.

84294 stares at the cork tiles on the wall opposite him. The cork tiles are new. 84294 hasn’t been in a cell with cork tiles before. First time for everything.

84294 sighs, although the restraints prevent him from breathing too deeply.

Maybe getting knocked out by the guard knocked something loose in 84294’s brain this time, because he finds himself prone to thinking.

The guard’s words linger in the room with him. _They’ve confirmed Amon is dead._

84294 doesn’t even know why this should still matter.

–

There comes a point where 84294 finds himself concluding that he’s fine with the prospect of the bloodbender being dead, although this thought makes 84294 aware of his own misery in the same way that one might be aware of a limb after it has been amputated.

But whenever 84294 tries to think of the bloodbender as being a different person to Amon, it makes him uncomfortable. (Or more uncomfortable than he is already, anyway. The restraints are giving him pins and needles.) 84294 knows what he saw. 84294 owes some honesty to himself.

And of course the worst thing you can do, in situations like this, is think ‘what if?’ What if they were different people? What if the bloodbender is dead, but Amon isn’t? What everyone is wrong about what happened?

If Amon was still alive, he’d rescue him, right?

Hope is a gristly thing. It gives your mind something to chew on when you have absolutely nothing else. 84294 still hasn’t decided if the sliver of pleasure he gets from hope almost outweighs the disillusionment that always follows afterwards.

84294 should know better, by now.

–

84294 catches himself thinking that if he was a bender, he’d be able to cut through the restraints somehow.

He’s sane enough to know that this isn’t a realistic thought. You just need to tie the average bender’s hands together in order to rend them useless. And the prison has its own methods for dealing with people like that. It’s funny; if you’re a regular criminal in a regular prison, there’s still a hierarchy, with benders at the top of the food chain. But in maximum security places like this, things are different. Once you cross the White Lotus or the United Forces (or both, if you’re real ambitious), benders and nonbenders are equal. Everyone is only worth as much as the information they can provide.

Still, the thought of being able to, say, firebend his way out of the restraints just bothers him.

–

84294 tries banging his head against the bench he’s been fastened to, hoping to knock himself out, but the bench is padded.

He may be here for a while.

–

Sometimes 84294 barters with the universe. _Look,_ he says, _Just let me have one good thing. Just one good thing to make up for all the anger. One final act of mercy. You owe me._

–

84294 supposes that there have been good things in his life. If things weren’t good, then he wouldn’t care about their absence.

He misses the others.

He could replay his memories of them in his mind. However, all his memories contain Amon in some way. The fucker is inescapable.

And 84294 goes back to wondering how the hell he managed to ignore so many things about the guy when he spent so much time around him.

But maybe the longer you’re with someone, the more oblivious you get. The longer you’re with someone, the more you have to lose. If you can dismiss your own concerns and overlook someone’s flaws for a week, then why not overlook their flaws for a year, or even longer?

How much are you willing to forgive?

Hell, sometimes it’s not forgiveness so much as, what’s the word, _acquiescence_ due to the lack of better options.

Acquiescence. That’s it.

84294 doesn’t have a whole lot of options right now, either.

84294 feels the urge to pray for something, like a bad itch.

He goes back to bartering with the universe again. _You owe me,_ his prayers go.

–

Thinking gets tiring, and 84294 drifts in and out of sleep.

He gets the sense that someone standing next to him, but he knows better than to ruin things by opening his eyes.

–

When 84294 stirs, he notices that the restraint seem lighter, although he has trouble moving his fingers.

There’s not a lot he can do about this, mind.

–

84294 wakes, startled, when someone gently touches his ribs as if checking for broken bones. Their hands are cold.

And 84294 thinks: _Oh._

_Oh shit._

_I’ve changed my mind._

“Go away,” 84294 says, realizing, too late, that some things are worse than being alone.

A hand rests lightly on his chest, and he can almost hear unspoken words: _you’re an idiot, Lieutenant._

“Go away,” 84294 repeats, then makes everything worse by starting to cry.

The pressure of the hand on his chest eases.

84294 agrees that he’s an idiot, still cries anyway.

–

84294 fades, although he’s woken again by the feeling of cold fingers tangling themselves in his filthy hair.

84294 sighs, exasperated.

The best part is that if 84294 could move, he might press his face against the unseen hand. He could almost kiss its palm, and apologize, _I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Maybe if I’d been stronger, you wouldn’t have thrown me away._ Months ago, such thoughts would’ve disgusted him, but isolation grants a new perspective. There’s no room for pride in a place like this. When your dignity isn’t worth anything, you prioritize other things.

Still, 84294 knows the deal. _You owe me._

84294 doesn’t dare say 'Don’t leave me here’ out loud, because that might ruin things. The sound of his own voice might make him realize that he’s just a lonely guy in a cell talking to himself.

But there is a heavy, thoughtful silence.

A cold hand resumes stroking 84294’s forehead, while another presses over his heart. It’s then that the Lieutenant opens his eyes one last time.

His final realization is that Amon is definitely dead.

–

The next morning, a guard checks on 84294, or rather, 84294’s body, then says, “You’re kidding me.”

The guard calls for one of his colleagues. There is a brief argument over how 84294’s restrains were applied, though it’s fair to say that 84294 hadn’t been in the best of health for a while, and the genocidal old fart wasn’t exactly a spring possumchicken to begin with. 84294 hadn’t really been alive as such for months; he’d just been a very aggressive corpse sustained entirely on spite and borrowed time.

And 84294 had never been much help to anyone. If the United Forces wanted intel, then they went to Sato for that. 84294 just used to spit at interrogators. Allegedly he bit one of them, once. So, no great loss. One less asshole in the world, if anything.

The death is logged, and 84294 is bagged and tagged, although not without the coroner cracking a comment about how peaceful 84294 looks.

84294 is surrendered to the crematorium and to obscurity.

–

The cell where 84294 died remains unusually cold.


End file.
